ODE TO THE HUNGARIAN LANGUAGE

As violet twilight darkens my lodgingI see before me St. Gellért’s handmaiden,on whose lips on an ancient eveningsong burst forth in Hungarian.Her Magyar face is distant and fading –yet, some secrets we must still be sharing:for her song flows through my every poreon a distant shore.

Magyar tongue, my loyal mate in life,you gave comfort to my wounded pride;through loss, suffering and adversityyou were the promise, a brighter destiny.Attack me with guns or accusations:I shall be armed with alliterations!Each ancient, vibrant verbprotects me in every nerve.

Your melodious vocal harmonywill stay with me through eternity.Those sturdy nouns, so vain and proud,possessive endings, like greedy Counts.Your gay adjectives and playful similesstood guard over us through the centuries.In each word I see your physiognomy,tormented Hungary.

It’s the speech of Árpád’s people,and not that of the Latin scribbler,nor the chatter of foreign barons,but the prayer of toiling peasants.Magyar tongue! Can you withstand the gale?You’re our future, stand firm and hale!Your soft sounds cover the nation’s facelike St. Veronica’s veil.